


so why should an ending alter my state of mind

by veel



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Karl Jacobs Needs a Hug, Karl Jacobs-centric, The InBetween - Freeform, Time Travelling Karl Jacobs, i dunno how to tag this rip, lads i wrote this instead of writin an essay lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29226957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veel/pseuds/veel
Summary: He knows this place.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	so why should an ending alter my state of mind

He knows this place. He could swear on his life that he knows this place. From the texture of the birch wood of the swing to the faint piano music, he recognizes every part of the cathedral like palace.

It’s white and quiet, but he feels safe here. He feels peaceful. Even if it forces him to travel, even though it causes him pain, he is at peace. There’s no war here, only the sound of his slow breaths.

He walks around, trying to remember. He can’t. There’s a wall that stands between himself and his memories. and yet he can’t seem to break it down no matter how hard he tries. Whether he tries to climb, dig, or straight up pass through it, he’s always met with the same result; nothing.

He doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want to see the people he so dearly cares about but can’t seem to put names to. He doesn’t want to see his failed attempt at saving everyone. He doesn’t want to feel scared again. He’s soldiered on for so long that it’s finally taking a toll on his mental and physical health.

The light from the outside pouring through the windows is blinding. It illuminates every inch of the palace. Not one corner is dark.  _ ‘If white symbolizes purity,’ _ he thinks,  _ ‘then why do I feel uneasy?’ _

He can’t help but feel off put at the quiet. He isn’t used to it. He isn’t used to the uneventfulness of the Inbetween. He knows he’s safe here, he knows that no one can get him in there, he knows that he can go back to his time when he’s finished, but something isn’t right about it.

The wither rose seems out of place when he feels its stiff petals that break so easily. The tree doesn’t seem real until he runs his fingers along the birch wood. He doesn’t know what’s off about this place, but it just feels wrong.

His body feels wrong. He shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t belong here, he belongs around other people. He doesn’t feel real. It feels like the rays of sunshine are passing straight through him and he hates it. He feels like a glitch and his entire mind is screaming at him to _ get out. _

It’s all wrong.

All of it’s  _ wrong. _

So then why is he here? Is he just meant to wander? The books told him he can remember if he spends enough time here, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t like it here. The emptiness is wrong. Completely wrong. There used to be someone here, and he knows it.

Where is the piano coming from? Who’s playing it? The piano sounds like it’s coming from all directions, drowning him in its sound. It’s familiar; too familiar for comfort. He hates it almost as much as he hates how he can’t hear his footsteps.

By all means, the place is unreal. It shouldn’t exist. He’s almost convinced that it isn’t real. He wants to believe it’s all a dream, but he can still feel things. He isn’t numb to the indents in the pillars supporting the palace or the flowers in the grassy area near the tree.

He’s afraid of being too loud. If someone truly is here, then he doesn’t want to be caught. No, it’s not an ‘if’. Someone has to be here. If there wasn’t anyone here, then where did the books come from? And it has to be someone he knows. How else would the books know his name?

He’s uncomfortable. He feels sick almost. He wants to throw up, but he can’t just seem to get himself to do it. His breathing quickens. He feels like he’s choking on water, but there isn't’t any there. He knows he’s not drowning, so why does he feel like it? Where did the ringing in his ears come from?

“Help!” He screams. He cries and screams, collapsing onto his knees. He hates how weak he feels. He doesn’t want to feel this pain anymore. He chokes on his sobs, trying to calm himself down. He’s shaking like a leaf.

His cries echo through the palace, and yet no one hears. The piano continues, but this time it’s darker than the lighter tunes that preceded it. He claws at his face, but he can’t feel his nails dragging across his skin. He knows there’s blood, but he doesn’t feel it. It drips down his face onto the floor and soaks his hoodie, but the blood disappears immediately after contact.

There’s something wrong about this place. He wants to leave. He misses his friends and family. He wants to lie down and forget about this place, but he can’t. He will remember this place. He’ll remember it even if he doesn’t want to.

“Why me?” He screams, eyes screwed shut. “Why? Why?  _ Why?” _ He didn’t ask for any of this. He didn’t ask to be able to travel through time. He didn’t ask to fail time and time again. He didn’t ask for this. He doesn’t want this. He  _ never _ has.

When he opens his eyes, he’s back in his home. He looks around the wooden house, eyes landing on a book next to the poster of the masquerade ball. He can’t remember writing it, but his ink stained fingers tells him he did.

He doesn’t remember putting on armor. He doesn’t remember leaving the palace. He doesn’t remember any of it, and he’s okay with it. He’d prefer to forget all of it. He’d rather forget everything than forget the things most important to him. Hell, he couldn’t even remember his own name.

The swirl on his no longer white hoodie reminds him of something. He can’t remember what, but he smells citrus and fire. He likes the smells. It’s not good by any means, but he loves it nonetheless.

He takes a deep breath and stands up, steading himself on a bookshelf. His fingers land on a leather book cover. He runs his fingers along it. It’s a nice texture. The name on the spine reads Jacobs. He knows it’s his. He’s Jacobs. He’s Karl Jacobs. He has to be, right? He opens the book up and reads the last sentence written.

‘Don’t forget who you are.’

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment please <3


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